


It had been a year.

by C_Grayson



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Feels, Frisk Is Dead, Multi, Sad, Very angst, here's the fallout, i am intentionally trying to make a friend cry here so, that's basically the premise here, very sad, what if the monsters outlived humans by a lot, y'know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 20:12:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6624577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C_Grayson/pseuds/C_Grayson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the logical conclusion of the "monsters age differently than humans" headcanon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It had been a year.

**Author's Note:**

> This is 400% based on a conversation I had with renwhit, go read their stuff. (And join the #HelveticaProtectionSquad)
> 
> If I make you cry please comment letting us know, we're having a competition and I need to win the Belt of Toughness.
> 
> Listening recommendations!  
> This on loop: https://youtu.be/w-9J8hRdTys  
> Or this playlist: http://8tracks.com/sergiocov/impermanence

It had been a year.

There was a memorial. Thousands packed the streets and millions more watched the stream. Dignitaries, officials, celebrities, and a few friends packed themselves into the Hall of Monsters. It was a complex with the explicit purpose of facilitating relations between the two species. There were speakers and presentations and stories. All to commemorate what they had accomplished.

365 days since the death of the Ambassador.

The Ambassador, who had spent their life speaking to the kindness and the character of monsters.

The Ambassador, who had nearly single handedly prevented more than one war.

The Ambassador, who had wormed their way into the hearts of billions.

Afterwards, Toriel opened the doors to her sprawling rancher, nestled between the trees on the edge of town. Everyone came. Everyone who had known the real Frisk. The quiet, determined goofball trying to be everything everyone needed them to be.

Sans, Papyrus, Alphys, Undyne, Grillby, Toriel, Asgore.

It wasn't fair. Human lives were so short and fleeting and before you could even focus and stop and pay attention they flickered and billowed away like a candle in a gale.

Asgore had lost his partner. The person who'd assured him he was doing his best to ensure the welfare of monsters. Who'd forgiven him for everything he'd done.

Toriel had lost a child. Again. She'd watched them grow up then grow old and then die when their heart couldn't beat any longer.

Grillby had lost a nibling. They'd always been happy to sit with him and read, or help with the garden. He'd enjoyed their quiet company. He'd enjoyed learning about the humans through them.

Undyne had lost a friend. A friend who'd always accepted her apologies and put up with her shenanigans. Someone who'd always been willing to jump out of a plane or proofread love letters to Alphys.

Alphys had lost a kindred spirit. They'd always tried to understand. They had listened to her, and she had listened to them.

Papyrus had lost a companion. The one who'd held his hand during scary movies and knitted him cozy scarves in every colour. The one who'd lived with him on and off over their life and helped him find his place in the world.

Sans had lost his kid. He'd watched them grow up and grow bolder and he'd been there to support them as they became one of the most recognizable and accomplished humans alive. He'd laughed with them at the far too serious statues and the dramatic retellings of their time in the Underground. He'd held them close when the world was too much for the both of them.

Frisk was dead.

Frisk was dead and they weren't coming back.

Frisk was dead, and in some cruel joke the universe had left them alive to remember it.

They stayed at Toriel's together for a week. The house felt too big and hollow. They'd been mute, but it still felt quieter without the thunk of their cane and the music blasting to reach ears dulled by age.

They ate lunch on their laps, sitting outside under the gazebo. Bees buzzed through the cherry bushes and sun broke through the clouds. The wind chimes, pushed by the light breeze, sparkled.

They took turns telling stories. Toriel and Papyrus were the most eloquent, but everyone tried.

Looking back on it, Sans wished they had recorded everything.

Five years.

They'd already lost so much. No one wanted to admit it, but it was hard to remember the way Frisk had shuffled the feet, how they'd cracked their back, the careful way they'd turned book pages.

They still all got together on the anniversary, but only for a weekend now. Life went on.

They still found new stories and connections. Sometimes, stories came to them. Letters sent by old friends and acquaintances, or teens who'd had the chance to meet Frisk through school. Usually, they were funny. Frisk had always been able to make people smile.

They lay flowers on the grave, tucked in the back of Toriel's property. There's a public memorial at the Hall, but Frisk had been adamant.

They were to let Frisk sleep in the soil, somewhere peaceful where the rain might still reach them and they could become the flowers.

Twenty years.

Undyne and Alphys didn't come this year. Busy with work and the excitement of planning a family. They had time. They all had so much time.

Sans and Papyrus drink too much, giggling in the kitchen as they pass a bottle back and forth. They thought it would be better by now. They thought it would be better.

But Frisk is still gone.

They remember when just the two of them was enough. When their whole world was each other. When they weren't two thirds of a trio. There were only a handful of years when Frisk hadn't lived with at least one of them.

When Frisk had needed more help; someone to carry their things and remind them to take their pills, Papyrus had moved back into the rancher.

The rancher.

Half a dozen bedrooms. A big kitchen. Long hallways and wide windows and rooms that opened up into each other. Skylights and wooden floors and paintings on the walls. One of the first homes built by monsters. They remember the first few years, when they'd all lived together.

It had been hectic and crowded and someone had always been awake. They used to have movie marathons in the living room and sock races in the kitchen. They'd cried and screamed and laughed. There'd always been someone visiting. Barbecues in the backyard, dancing and homework on the patio.

It had been amazing.

Frisk had grown up surrounded by people who loved them.

Fifty years.

Undyne and Alphys come, and this year they bring their tiny clan with them. Three terrors. As smart and absolutely chaotic as their parents. For the first time in a very long time, the rancher feels like it used to.

Asgore stands in Frisk's old room and cries. He's lost too many friends and the weight of it all hangs around his neck.

Sans and Papyrus play hide and seek with the kids, who are understandably frustrated by Sans's ability to appear and disappear whenever it suits him.

Grillby practices magic with them in the backyard, praising them even when their attempts are half-formed and messy.

It's been so long since the Dreemur family has had children around.

A hundred years.

There's a picture on the mantle from a very long time ago. Faded, but well cared for.

Sans hates that he looks the same age there as he does now. Not that skeletons get wrinkles. But still. It bothers him. There he is, almost two centuries ago. The same year the barrier fell, standing outside Grillby's bar on the surface, pointing excitedly at the red neon sign with Frisk mirroring him. Their smile is ridiculously, ludicrously happy.

Everyone else is at the official memorial. He had to leave, though. Listening to people who never even met Frisk talk about their bravery and their courage rubs him the wrong way. They don't call them Frisk though. They call them the Ambassador.

Grillby shows up, a little behind him. He doesn't have the luxury of being able to fade away. Sans didn't know he was crying until he was pulled against his love's chest.

Two hundred years.

Sans, Papyrus, Alphys, Undyne, Grillby, Toriel.

Asgore is gone now, a dusty sweater on the mantle. Toriel doesn't know how to feel about that.

The precious cherubs are grown, Undyne and Alphys back to travelling from convention to convention to lab to lab as Alphys slowly becomes the single most accomplished innovator in the history of the world.

They ask if Sans and Grillby have any plans. Sans doesn't have the heart to say he's already had a kid.

Toriel sits alone in the garden. She forgets what Frisk's smile looked like. What it really looked like. Not what the cameras remember. She forgets what their voice sounded like. She only ever heard it a couple times. She knows it was beautiful. She forgets how they liked to drink their tea. She forgets so much. She forgets so, so much.

Everyone regrets not taking better care to remember all those years ago. They should have taken more pictures. They should have known this would happen. They do it now, but they all know it's too late. Frisk is already fading.

Five hundred years.

A summer romance turned into something more leaves Papyrus with six children and a wife who already passed a century ago. It's getting harder to care about the humans.

Sans likes being an uncle. He likes finding himself and his brother in the six skeletons, who's souls aren't quite human and aren't quite monster. The first of their kind. Alphys helped out there.

The whole thing gives Sans ideas. Nothing good.

The rancher has been renovated and fixed and patched so many times it's only an echo of what it once was, every piece a replacement.

It's loud again. The clack clack of skeleton feet wander the hallways. Toriel loves them. She tells them stories about the auncle they'll never get to meet. Everyone makes sure they learn about Frisk from the family, not from the textbooks.

A thousand years.

Sans, Papyrus, Alphys, Undyne.

Did they know everyone else would live this long? Did they have any idea how much they would be missed?

A thousand years and Sans still wishes he could hold them one last time. Tell him he loves them and that he'll miss them and that he'll take care of everyone for them and they did so good they did so good. His soul aches and he feels heavy whenever he remembers.

Their gravestone is weathered and hard to read. There are three beside it now.

Grillby and Toriel are gone now too.

Sans moves in with his brother and the two kids who've found their way back to the nest. It's nice. It feels like family.

But he still misses sleeping with someone warm at night. He misses quiet morning routines, oiled and practiced over the years. He misses inside jokes and Grillby's laugh, and his voice dear god his voice. Full and crackling and layered and beautiful. He misses going star watching and being able to share himself so thoroughly and completely with another person. It's been so long, but he finds himself missing the cozy bar in Snowdin. He misses staying past closing, just to talk, the two of them. He misses having someone else to care about. He misses being the partner to someone so amazing and honest and kind and thoughtful.

He misses having a friend who's been through it all with him. Who held his hand as they put their child in the ground. Who picked up the phone when he called without regard for time zones because he just needed to talk. He misses telling bad puns, increasingly stretched or repeated as they milked language for all it was worth. He misses getting coffee and travelling and watching the kids for Papyrus together. It had felt like old times.

Maybe it's stupid to miss such a small slice of his life. He's done so much.

But he still wants to go back.

Sans has a terrible, terrible thought.

One thousand five hundred years.

Papyrus, Sans.

The rancher is too much for Sans to live in alone, so he hands over care of it to a group that promises to do its best to preserve the house.

Like it matters.

Sans builds a smaller place, near the back of the property. Papyrus comes to live with him. It reminds them of Snowdin, back when they were kids.

They watch the old family movies.

Usually, one of them is behind the camera. Sometimes it's Toriel.

Frisk.

Sans can't even bring himself to cry.

There they are, walking and talking and moving and being so fully themself and so very much alive. The way they curl their hands when they sign, how they sip their hot tea carefully. The things they say and what they don't and it's all too much it's all too much and Sans has shortcut away and he's in the graveyard now.

One, two, three, four, five, six graves all lined up in a row. Only one of them actually marks a body. He can practically feel them underneath the ground. They're so close. They're so close but they're so far away and it isn't fair, it isn't fair, it isn't fair, there's so much they could have done and could have been if they had just had more time, if they had just had more time...

He remembers the last conversation he had with them, the last good conversation at least.

43 times.

They had reset 43 times.

Some times had been... unpleasant. Frisk had preferred not to talk about that.

But some resets had left them wondering what inside jokes were still inside jokes. What memories were real. Whether they had reset intentionally or died accidentally. Who knew them, who didn't, where they had to be and what they had to do.

Time rewinding for everyone but them, pulled back like a puppet on strings. Thoughts jumbled and muddled.

They weren't sure how old they were anymore.

They'd never made it to "the end." They'd never made it far enough to be lying in their childhood bed, the windows open to let in the birdsong and their family flying home from around the globe.

They'd told him they weren't going to reset. That that was it. To take care of himself.

Sans couldn't even remember what he'd said. He had an awful, sinking feeling in his gut that he had told them he was _proud_. Proud they were going to die long, long before they deserved to.

Papyrus finds him. They don't talk too much anymore. It's easy enough to communicate without words.

So instead, Papyrus wraps his arms around Sans and he squeeze him as tightly as he can.

Two thousand years.

Sans.

He's the only one left.

Thanks to the others, there's more than enough family to keep him company. They all call him Uncle Sans. It's nice.

He lives in the house alone. Dusty mementos line the fireplace.

He teaches at the school Toriel founded. Young kids. Their faces change every year. He doesn't mind anymore. That's just the way it is.

Frisk is remembered wrong. As a hero. As a statue. As an entry in a textbook. As an international holiday. As the Ambassador. Not as a person, and certainly not as a child who was just trying to do their best.

It's ironic. The monster who was convinced he was going to fall down at any moment millennia ago, outliving everyone, including his younger brother.

Sans is the only creature in the entire world who lived in the Underground.

Does he get a trophy? He should get a trophy. Maybe a medal. He's certainly won this fucking competition.

Loneliest monster in the history of monsters.

His niblings don't understand. They don't understand the terror and the horror of not being able to see the stars. He resents them for it. He hates himself for that. He hates himself for knowing that he tried to go back.

Sans's soul does not have enough determination to r e  s   e    t     .

How is it possible that this is worse than the Underground ever was? As least then, he had Grillby. He had Papyrus. He had a voice behind a door, and he had the hope that maybe, just maybe, the kid would make the right choice.

They ask him to give a speech on the anniversary of the barrier came down.

He stands being the podium, harsh lights making his skull sweat. He looks down at the words written on his page. He reads the first paragraph, and then he stops.

He's talking about the Ambassador.

And so he gives up, and with millions watching him over the stream, he begins to take questions.

For six hours he does his best. He does his best to do justice to everyone he's loved and lost. He does his best to make them understand.

They don't.

How could they?

How could they possibly begin to understand growing up within a tomb?

He talks about the Underground and seeing the stars for the first time and Frisk's enthusiasm for learning and their insistence that wisdom was a character trait worth striving for and Papyrus's bad cooking that got better and better over the years until Papyrus's bad cooking was actually very very good and Toriel's kindness and perseverance and gentleness and Asgore's quiet strength and the deep sadness within him and Alphys's love for anime and her wife and her kids and Undyne's determination to protect every single person in her extended family and Grillby and his bar and his hands and his laugh and his smile and what it was like to wake up every morning and choose to love someone and have them choose to love you.

He doesn't mention resets.

They don't need to know everything.

He thinks it will make a difference.

It doesn't.

A page here, a thought there.

But Frisk is still a statue and Grillby is still "his late partner" and Toriel is still a queen and Asgore is still a king and Alphys is still an inventor and Undyne is still a mother and Papyrus is still "the skeleton who saved ten thousand lives" over the course of his long, demanding career and Sans, Sans is the skeleton. Worked odd jobs at universities and labs his whole life, private, still alive.

A tiny skeleton who can't do this much longer.

He can feel it happening.

He stops going to the school. They phone, but he doesn't pick up. It takes awhile. Longer than he thought it would.

He spends his last few months sitting by the graves whenever he's not making himself a cup of tea.

He talks to Papyrus. He tells him all about what a mess the house is now that he can't find it in him to clean. He tells him about how the niblings worry, and oh, there's a new one on the way. Papyrus would love them all so much. There's two that remind him of when they were young.

He tells knock knock jokes to Toriel. She doesn't knock back. Oh well. He can snicker for the both of them.

He drinks tea with Asgore. The king probably wouldn't approve of him pouring tea over the empty grave, but he doesn't particularly care. The garden, which Asgore cared for so dearly, is a mess. He doesn't call to have someone fix it. The roses run thick and wild and the golden flowers slowly choke out everything else.

He confides in Alphys. She's always been such a good listener. He tells her that he's afraid.

He gives Undyne statues reports on her clan. Sprawling and growing all the time. She's a hero to them all. A matriarch worth being proud of.

He sits with Grillby. What can he say that he hasn't already said? And so he's quiet. He wishes he could hear Grillby's voice one last time. Share one last plate of fries. Hold hands, for just a moment.

And Frisk.

He kneels over their body, so soft and quiet below him. Six feet of earth and worms separate him from his child.

And he feels so empty. He slides down and he's lying over them, mirroring their pose.

Funny, that the way the wind is blowing his dust will be spread over the other graves.

Maybe it's just the last gasp of a dying soul. The last, forceful burst of hope in a desperate effort to keep him from crumbling.

But he swears that as he begins to lose his form and fade away, swept over the other the turf by the breeze, he can hear a voice he's only heard a handful of times before.

"Sans!"

He smiles.

"About time you showed up."


End file.
